A Puppy for the Holidays!!

I may never know what it’s like to have a baby grow inside my belly. But right now I know what it’s like to have love grow inside my heart. I’m fascinated by the feelings I have for this tiny being. It’s amazing how much I want to hold the little creature and pour all of my love into her. How is it that pregnant women are able to cope with having to wait nine whole months to finally meet their little creations when two months of waiting for my fur baby seems like an eternity to me?

From the moment Dan and I saw her picture two months ago, I knew that she was ours. I remember my exact words: “She’s perfect.”  I fell in love with her when I saw her tiny body hanging limp inside the hand of the breeder. She is a precious miniature schnauzer whose black and white coat has gone from magnificently smooth to adorably shaggy. Every couple of weeks, Dan requests a picture from the breeder and those pictures have made us ever more excited about her upcoming arrival. We’ve searched through lists of dog names on Google for the perfect name to match our little one and have dwindled it down to these possible names: Lulu, Gypsie, and Roxie. Though we haven’t officially chosen a name yet, Roxie is the name I’ve decided to call her in the interim as an alternative to referring to her as simply “the dog”.

Yes,  Dan and I have been counting the days until we get to meet our little Roxie on the 12th of this month—-now less than 7 days away. Every day we imagine what our new life with her will be like: hard work, a lot of walks, sleepless nights, days of training her, and so much more. I’m looking forward to every second of it. And it truly warms my heart to see Dan’s excitement in his taking charge of all the supplies we’ll need for little Roxie: a huge bag of dog food and some canned food, a collar and a leash, food and water bowls, bright colored toys, a crate, a soft bed, and the list goes on. But also in his excitement lies what Dan describes as a “free-floating anxiety that I can’t attach to anything” specific. This restlessness has kept him awake at night as we get closer to her arrival date. Perhaps what Dan is experiencing is an anxiety that an expectant father might feel. 

But despite the jitters, we are both unbelievably excited about little Roxie completing our family in time for the holidays. I’m looking forward to her curiosity about the Christmas tree and dressing her up in a doggie Santa hat. I’m looking forward to learning how to train her and simply basking in the individual that we will come to love.  This is the perfect ending to a year that saw a lot of fear, seclusion and grief.  We all started the year with a hope that 2020 will be a memorable one and now Dan and I are ending it with a truly great gift that will surely make our holiday a momentous occasion. 

A New Addition for the Holiday?

For a very long time now, Dan has consistently expressed his interest in having a dog. And for just as long, I have maintained my deepest disapproval of the idea. For those of you who followed my bachelorette blog, you will know that I was very opposed to having a dog when Dan and I were dating. In my mind, Dan wanting a dog was akin to me wanting a child. They both require time, commitment, work, money, discipline, patience, and so much more. And as childish as it may sound, I felt that if I could not have my child, then Dan was not getting a dog. It almost sounds like a punishment against him but it was just the way my mind made sense of the whole situation at the time.

After we got married, every so often, Dan continued to mention the idea of us getting a dog. Still dealing with the pain of being unable to have my own child, I always shot the idea down. I had considered adoption and Dan and I even went to a few seminars to learn more about the adoption process but the thought of adoption never felt right for us. As a writer, I tried very hard to put into words why adoption was something I no longer wanted to consider, yet the words never came. So when having my own child was not possible and adoption was off the table, I mourned silently and alone.

It was hard for me to talk about it with Dan because, for as long as I have known him, his heart was never really into having children anyway. His heart had always been into loving and taking care of a dog. Bringing a dog into our lives would be just like bringing a baby into our lives in the sense that it would need constant attention, protection, and love. I just wasn’t ready for that if it was not going to be a baby.

Very, very slowly, I softened on the idea. And I was very aware of it while it was happening. I softened a bit each time I saw a dog and its owner walking around the neighborhood. I softened a bit more when I befriended an adorable dog named Reed who couldn’t decide whether he should listen to his owner commanding him to “stay” or come greet me. I even softened some more each time I saw a cute puppy or dog expressing some sort of disdain for me through its persistent bark. I loved asking the same question to those dogs: “What’s the matter? Why are you so mad?”

Then, one day, a friend of mine expressed how happy she was that she and her boyfriend adopted a pair of cats. She looked forward to staying at home just to bond with them and according to her, she couldn’t be happier with her life. Instantly I felt that I wanted that same happiness. That was the exact moment I went from being softened to actually melting. I wanted a pet. If it was just me, I would get another cat because I have always admired their independence, beauty, and grace. But this was something for Dan and me. I wanted us to have something that we could love and take care of together.

And then I did it. I finally told Dan that I was emotionally ready to have a dog.

(To be continued…)


I was in the elevator at work one morning with several fellow teachers. One of the teachers just happened to be pregnant with her first child. Another older teacher in the elevator felt the need to tell this pregnant woman that she had to make sure she didn’t neglect her husband when the baby came. The pregnant teacher didn’t ask for this piece of advice; nor did she ever suggest that she was looking for such advice. It may seem innocent enough and the older woman was most likely offering something she felt would be useful but it wasn’t her business! What is it about some people who feel that just because they know a little bit about you they can just come out and say things that are completely inappropriate, insensitive and not of their concern?

When I was engaged, my sister and I were having lunch with a couple of friends. These were not very close friends as we only see them about once a year. But why did one of them feel the need to ask me if I planned on having kids? Again, the question may seem innocent enough but starting a family, as I have come to understand it, is a very private conversation between the people in the relationship. If I had brought it up in conversation, well then that would have been different; the topic would have been open for discussion. But the fact that this was an emotional subject matter for me, I didn’t know how to answer it without it prompting any more painful questions about it. My sister came to the rescue and jokingly said, “She plans on having 12 babies!” And that did it! They continued on with the joke and I quietly listened and smiled until the joke wore itself out and the question was forgotten.

And yes, I have been guilty of the same transgression. Several years ago, one of my close friends had just gotten married to a beautiful woman of another race. Every time I saw my friend, I’d ask him when he and his new wife were going to have a baby. It was my curiosity about what the baby would look like that had me ask the question every time. I didn’t know that they had been trying for months and were so far unsuccessful. I know how painful it is to try to get pregnant, only to end up disappointed. And to have people constantly ask you about it when it is not even their business can very well worsen the pain. I was being very insensitive about something very private and personal that this person and his wife were going through. I only became aware of my thoughtlessness much later when I was going through my own experiences of people unintentionally being tactless.

Just recently, I went to visit my primary care physician for my yearly checkup and to discuss other concerns. Upon noticing that I had gained about seven pounds, she felt it was funny to call me a fatty, insinuating that I was so happy with my new husband that I let myself go. First of all, assuming my weight change is a result of my newly acquired status was extremely offensive to me. Secondly, I know I’m not fat, yet it still didn’t feel very good to hear that word coming from my own doctor to make light of my unwanted weight gain. Why did she think that was okay? I had to remind her that the complications with my medication for endometriosis was the reason why I gained weight despite my daily exercise routine. She seemed sympathetic, however her comment stayed with me.

Covid has caused a sharp decline in social gatherings for most people, including Dan and myself. I am slightly grateful for that. As newlyweds, I think we are susceptible to the personal questions people would feel compelled to bombard us with just because of the expectations society places on newlyweds. And for some reason, people feel that it is okay to ask these questions. One can argue that I may have opened myself up to these questions by writing about my reproductive hardships, my marriage to Dan and about my life with him in my blog. If it’s my blog one wishes to discuss, I have no problems with talking about its content. But I find that most people who are thoughtless don’t even know I have a blog.

By no means am I implying that only married people usually face such callousness. There’s the single girl who gets asked why she doesn’t have a boyfriend yet. The heavy set girl with a medical condition that gets snickered at because she can’t lose weight. The single man who is asked why he has not yet settled down. The childless single woman who is constantly being reminded of her biological clock. The sister of the bride who is asked when it will be her turn to walk down the aisle. The engaged couple who is politely harassed by concerned family and friends about setting a wedding date. When was the last time you might have innocently pressed into someone’s wounds, adding insult to injury?

Let’s try to be a little more sensitive to the issues people may privately be dealing with. Let’s think about how our questions and comments may affect the recipient before we open our mouths. Let’s wait until the topic is first put on the table by the person in question before assuming it is up for discussion. Let’s choose to be considerate of others.

4 Lessons from the First Year of Marriage

Dan and I celebrated our first wedding anniversary last month with a romantic dinner at a French restaurant in Brooklyn Heights. Just like the day of our wedding, everything was perfect. The food was exquisite, the wine was sweet like my taste buds prefer and the dessert made me forget all about my caloric budget. We exchanged gifts and marveled at what an eventful first year we had together. Our anniversary really got me thinking about all the things we learned about ourselves and each other within only a year’s time. And that’s when I started to think about the lessons I’ve learned about relationships and marriage. I share them with you here.

  1. Couples who work out together stay together. I’m so glad I found someone who is as into fitness as I am. We work out together all the time. Well, not really together.  Every time I’m working out in the living room, he works out in the bedroom. Well, that doesn’t really happen much… anymore. I still work out every day but sometimes he isn’t even able to work out at all…  Hmmm…leisure walking is a workout, right? It is! Yay! Then that’s what we do every morning together—well, not since school started again…   😜
  1. Get used to doing some things yourself so you won’t be such a nag. If your husband has the habit of turning on all the lights in the house even though the sun is shining brightly inside, you don’t have to say anything. Or say your husband decides that he, for some reason, needs ALL of the lights in the apartment on just to get himself a glass of water from the fridge and then retreats back into the bedroom without turning off any of the lights.  What will nagging solve? Simply turn off the lights yourself when he’s left the room, no matter how often this occurs. And if your wife has the habit of leaving her laptop, her purse, her books, her papers, her headphones and her chargers on the living room couch when all you want to do is lay down to enjoy a good book, you don’t have to say anything. No! Just move them all somewhere she wouldn’t like them to be placed (like the floor {I have a thing about putting my belongings on the floor}) and forget about it. She’ll think twice next time about being so inconsiderate! Guaranteed!   👍🏽
This pasta fork was the instrument I used to secretly gain access to one of my favorite snacks!
  1. You alone are responsible for controlling your temptations. I’m not quite sure if my addiction to peanut butter is particularly odd. If there’s no peanut butter in the apartment, I am quite fine and I don’t crave it. But once it enters my home, it becomes my obsession! Upon my request, Dan was kind enough to hide the jar of peanut butter in an effort to help keep me from feeling the guilt I’d have once I’ve started inhaling its contents. And I’m not talking about having it with a cracker or with jelly on bread—why waste my time on that? No, this has gone into the territory of ingesting one-third of a 48 ounce jar literally in one sitting with a spoon, as if it’s ice-cream! When I discovered that the jar was hidden in the cupboard way beyond my reach, like a mischievous child sneaking snacks when she knows she’d be in trouble for it, I developed a strategy to easily get to it without having to use a chair. Whenever Dan was not around, I would use a pasta fork to tactically open the cupboard and then carefully reach it inside to gently push the jar out, quickly catching it as it falls out. I perfected this technique until one day… it wasn’t so perfect. I didn’t know what happened! I must have pushed the full jar too hard or too quickly towards me and before I could catch it, it fell directly onto the bridge of my nose! (Just think about how heavy a full jar of PB is!) I dramatically threw the pasta fork down and desperately caressed my nose as if that would help diminish the excruciating pain that I was in.  I frantically ran from the kitchen to find the closest mirror to investigate the damage, half expecting my nose to swell as quickly as it would in a cartoon. To my surprise, my face looked fine but the pain was unbelievable! It should not have been Dan’s responsibility to help me suppress my temptation. He did what I asked him to but once I found it, I should have either told him about my knowledge of it or controlled my temptation. I learned my lesson!! Thank goodness he wasn’t around to witness the pathetic scene!  😜 
  1. Doing things for each other shows how much you care.  It’s not unusual to find peanut butter on the cabinet doors after Dan has finished putting his usual ingredients into his morning smoothie. Yes it bothers me to find this (why is the peanut butter all over his hands to begin with?) but that’s not why I wipe it away for him. It’s clear that he had every intention to take care of it, but of course his mind is focused on way more important things (like consuming his peanut buttery morning beverage), so he simply forgets- I would too!  Wiping the peanut butter off the cabinets makes me as happy as Mrs. Cleaver herself because I am doing it for him, not because I find it absolutely disgusting (after all, PB is delicious, as I’ve alluded to in my previous paragraph). And he- he does some wonderful things for me too. There was one particular evening when I was so exhausted that I couldn’t bother with my usual bedtime routine of washing my face and brushing my teeth. As I said goodnight to Dan, he asked me if I brushed my teeth. I told him I was too drained. The man got out of bed, went into the bathroom, and took it upon himself to put toothpaste on my toothbrush and waited until I got out of bed to brush my teeth. He didn’t do it because my breath was so stale by the end of that day (nope, not the minty freshness that is my breath). He did it because he cares about my oral hygiene. You see how thoughtful he is?  💕

In all seriousness, aside from our peculiar obsession with peanut butter, I’ve learned that there is a lot of compromise that occurs in a marriage and sometimes you might feel there’s more give than take. But if you fail to look at some of the trivial situations with humor, then those small compromises may later result in resentful feelings about your spouse and the relationship. We really do make it a habit to talk frequently about the things that bother us and we don’t ever go to bed angry. In fact, Dan likes to make me laugh as I attempt to fall asleep by shuffling the blanket over me until it becomes so annoying that I have to yell at him in order for him to stop. Or he likes to place his hand under my pillow, pushing it up in small rapid motions until I’m forced to say something. My laughter is not a result of my annoyance in the least. No, he’s making bedtime fun and that’s what I respond to.  😄

Anyway, if you have a significant other, I hope this post has added some insight into different ways you, too, can make your relationship as smooth and argue-free (well, most of the time, anyway) as my marriage is with Dan. ❤️

During our anniversary dinner

Summer of Covid, part 2

During the last week of July, when Dan and I realized half the summer was over and we had not done anything notable, Dan suggested we go away for a few days. I agreed that we needed a getaway, and I was desperate to get over my current anxiety (Summer of Covid, part 1), so I was all for it. He booked a hotel for us to stay in Boston for a couple of nights and we were set to visit a museum and take a “Ghosts and Gravestones” walking tour. We were finally doing something!

But on the morning of our trip, Dan dejectedly told me that he was not feeling well enough to go (he was still experiencing symptoms of fatigue and muscle weakness from having Covid). It wasn’t until then that I realized just how much I had been looking forward to our excursion. As I packed my bags the night before our pending road trip, I envisioned us relaxing by the pool. Now, that vision was quickly slipping away. There would be no fun and interesting photos taken during any tour. And it saddened me to know that the summer dress I had packed  for a night out on the town would not be worn– nor would any other outfit for that matter. Dan knew I was disappointed, and with a pained expression in his eyes, he genuinely apologized. While I understood that he had no control over his symptoms, I was still heartbroken inside.

I think Dan was trying to keep a positive outlook when he said, “Thank goodness you’re a homebody.” Yes, I’ve always been more inclined to enjoy my time at home than attend any particular event but I didn’t see it that way when he said it. I felt that statement was completely irrelevant and that it negated my excitement for a necessary getaway. I had been indoors for the first part of the summer, overcoming a most surprising case of social anxiety. I was finally ready to experience the fresh, warm air, feel the hot sun on my skin and enjoy a different setting with my husband. So no, it wasn’t a good thing that I was a homebody. 

I quickly felt an urgency to leave the apartment.  I didn’t want to be home thinking about the trip that didn’t happen; that was just too depressing. Not only was I too upset to just stay home, I suddenly felt claustrophobic, trapped in a space I didn’t know I was starting to resent. Being in the darkened apartment all summer was causing a restlessness inside me, bringing me down with lethargy and a desire to do nothing all day but sit in front of the TV or play mind-numbing games on my cell phone. I was angry for not having pushed myself out of the slump that defined my overall summer disposition. I had no idea what it was actually doing to me until I was faced with the reality and the understanding that I needed to get out.

In an effort to make it up to me, Dan did take me out that evening to a local restaurant where we enjoyed our meals outdoors. It was so lovely to be outside beyond my neighborhood and it reaffirmed my feeling ready to be among people again. I believe it also helped Dan conquer his symptoms of fatigue– if only for a little while until his symptoms would hit him again.

Around the second week of August, Dan had a few days where he was feeling pretty good, so we decided to give it another shot. We drove down to Boston, and spent a couple of nights in a hotel downtown. The following week, we spent two days and one night at a beach club in Oakdale, LI, and spent a day and night out in the Hamptons. Between participating in a couple of amusing and engrossing walking tours, pleasant visits with friends, and relishing the appetizing meals at outdoor restaurants, we still found plenty of time to relax so that Dan would not feel too fatigued. 

Upon reflection, a thought came to mind. Only a few weeks before, I was feeling apprehensive about being in the same space with others after testing positive with the coronavirus, so my feelings of disappointment for not going away– and finally being able to enjoy myself once we did get away– were actually very good signs that my anxiety was over! We’ve since had picnics at the park and enjoyed a few  afternoons at Rockaway Beach. These were not major excursions, but they were so much better than staying indoors, watching the summer pass us by. Yes, I was truly grateful for the little that we had done together. 

Fun times at the park.

Summer of Covid, part 1

During the last week of July, it suddenly dawned on me that the summer was halfway over and Dan and I had not done anything significant! Every day was spent indoors. I worked on my novel and took some online writing and book publishing classes. Dan worked almost every day preparing for Back2Levittown, his weekly Friday night show on Facebook live; we were both being very productive. But between Dan’s chronic fatigue due to Covid and my anxiety about going outside, we had not done one memorable thing.  

Yes, anxiety. Let me explain.

A week after Dan had tested positive for Covid back in June, my second test came back positive as well. But mine might as well have been a false positive because I didn’t have any symptoms whatsoever. I continued exercising every day with no feelings of fatigue and I never developed any type of fever. I maintained a positive attitude throughout, feeling that I wouldn’t develop any symptoms and that I had somehow beat the virus. Someone from the NYC Test and Trace Corps called me every day to check on my symptoms but my answers were always the same: I felt absolutely fine!

I did quarantine myself for the mandatory two weeks. Most of that time, Dan was away, quarantining himself at a Covid facility, so I was all alone. When I needed them, my sister was sweet enough to bring me groceries and she left them at the door so that we would not be in contact.  

When I was first told that I tested positive for Covid, I was upset that now I was a part of that statistic. I quickly got over that when day after day, I continued to feel good. However, when Dan came back and my quarantine was over, I wasn’t moved at all to finally go outside and experience the summer air in all of its glory. Instead, I felt nervous about going out. This was strange to me because the entire time beforehand, I was certain that I could not and would not be affected by this thing. But now, my thoughts about it became irrational. 

I felt that I might contaminate others just by being in their presence—mask and all. I had self-quarantined for two weeks so I knew I could no longer be contagious; but the thought was still there. I also felt that no matter how responsible I was with a mask and gloves, I would somehow contract the virus again. In my irrational mind, the world outside was a germ infested Petri dish and we were the bacteria unable to resist our attraction to one another. I didn’t want to take a chance in the laundry room in the basement of my building; the thought of going down there somehow frightened me. I also avoided supermarkets altogether. In fact, I was quite content to stay home if it meant that I would not be in contact with anyone. The only time I felt comfortable leaving my apartment was during my morning walks to the park with Dan, which continued as soon as my quarantine was over. Our early morning walks are the perfect opportunity to get some fresh air and exercise without running into so many people. 

As July came to an end, I suddenly realized that the summer was passing us by with nothing to show for it. I saw the second half of the summer going in the same momentum and slowly started warming to the idea of finally getting over my anxiety. I didn’t want the summer to just be the summer of Covid. I wanted to experience more. There was no way that we were the only ones missing out on a memorable summer because of this virus. And I’m sure there were plenty of people doing enjoyable and exciting activities while remaining safe. Why weren’t we a part of that crowd?

I had to remind myself that Dan and I were quite fortunate. There were so many people who spent this summer in hospital beds perhaps not even awake or aware of their unfortunate situation. I thought of the people whose very lives were lost as a result of this horrifying virus. I thought about the loved ones of those who sadly succumbed to this thing. What about their summer plans? Covid ruined a lot of plans and a lot of lives and realizing how fortunate Dan and I are as two people who tested positive, I was ready to make something more of my summer. With that resolve, my anxiety had finally gone away; and the following week, Dan and I were going away ourselves…

How Corona Invaded Our Marriage

After being painstakingly careful over the last few months regarding where we went, what we brought into our home, and wearing masks and gloves, Dan somehow contracted the coronavirus. Before going in for a routine medical procedure, Dan’s doctor told him he had to take the COVID-19 test. That was on Monday, June 15. On Tuesday, he received the phone call from his doctor with the unfortunate news. But what WASN’T unfortunate was the fact that he didn’t exhibit any of the life-threatening symptoms that we have come to know the disease can cause. There were two symptoms Dan had: extreme fatigue and muscle weakness. We were both thankful that his symptoms weren’t worse.

But now that we knew he tested positive, the question was whether I had it too. So, off to the nearest hospital I went, that very afternoon in order to be tested. And what an unpleasant experience it was! A long swab was inserted into each nostril, deep into the nasal cavity. I squealed in discomfort as the nurse performed the five-second test that had me on my tiptoes, as if that would somehow prevent the swab from going deeper into my nasal area. Approximately 20 hours later, I received the news that I had tested negative for the coronavirus. A part of me was relieved. But I have to admit, another, larger part of me was disappointed. Let me explain.

Both Dan and I were feeling fine, with the exception of Dan’s extreme fatigue. If I had tested positive with no symptoms, then the easy solution would be for us to remain quarantined together for two weeks.

But because I tested negative, Dan was extremely concerned about infecting me with it. I have a preexisting lung condition that made contracting the virus a very scary threat. 

He strongly suggested I go stay with my sister while he quarantined himself in our apartment. But who’s to say my sister didn’t have it herself? She isn’t as fortunate as Dan and I are. Being teachers, we continue receiving our paychecks while working from home. My sister, on the other hand, has to go into work daily, and is in contact with a number of people who may be unknowingly spreading the disease, even while taking the necessary precautions.

As a result, Dan stayed in our bedroom while I continued to do my remote teaching in the living room. We were still about two weeks from the last day of school so I was a bit on edge with the grading of final assessments and revisions and attending staff meetings. But because Dan quarantined himself in the bedroom, he wanted me to cook his food and leave it on a small table outside the bedroom door. I was dumbfounded when I received a text with his order of eggs with salami and toast, butter and coffee. What was happening? Why was I suddenly his waitress? He was physically fine!!! It wasn’t like he was bedridden!! And I had already been exposed to him, so what difference did it make? I sent him a polite reply regarding the amount of pressure I was under with work and asked if we could just switch rooms while he made himself breakfast. His next text pretty much told me that if I would not respect the fact that he was quarantined, then I needed to go to my sister’s place. It was on!!! In the middle of my session with my students, I furiously closed my laptop and started packing my things to leave, out of anger more so than circumstance. As I gathered my clothing and other necessities, Dan stepped into the kitchen to pack some food for me. I said nothing to him. He held the door open for me, and as I exited, he told me he loved me. My response? “Bye.”

I was livid!! I walked out of the apartment building, a bag lady of sorts, with my laptop in its own special case, a tote bag overflowing with my clothes and necessities and the heavy plastic shopping bag Dan filled with salad, fruit, a package of ground turkey and other groceries. I arrived at my sister’s, feeling guilty for barging in on her private space and feeling saddened that Dan and I had argued. A few hours away from Dan and a lonely night in my old bedroom helped me to gain a better perspective of what transpired that afternoon. Although I held on to my belief that if Dan was going to infect me, it would have happened already, I did start to see and understand his mindset.

The man was freaking out. He had just tested positive for a virus that has killed hundreds of thousands of people already- I’m sure there was an incredible amount of anxiety that came with news like that. And because he was not experiencing life-threatening symptoms, I considered him fine. But what I didn’t take into account was the fact that he wasn’t feeling 100% and that’s what mattered. I was afraid that just because he tested positive, he would start believing that he had symptoms, much like a hypochondriac. Whether he imagined the symptoms or not, his extreme fatigue was very real to him and I was discounting his feelings just because he wasn’t on his deathbed. He tried to make me see that as his wife, I should have shown more concern for him and his new situation.

He, in turn, failed to understand that I was no safer at my sister’s place than I was at our apartment. What if I would have remained negative but by going to my sister’s I contracted the virus? Or worse! What if I tested a false negative and then inadvertently infected my sister?! It was irresponsible of him to insist I go to my sister’s and it was even more irresponsible of me to take that chance just because I still had the key to my old apartment. And I also wanted him to understand that his food request felt quite demeaning and inconsiderate at a time when I told him about the tension I was under due to work. Perhaps seeing him walking around seemingly fine moments before he received the news clouded my judgement of the situation, where I simply did not take his diagnosis very seriously. Needless to say, neither one of us let go of what we believed was right.

The very next day, I sent a text to Dan, telling him that I was coming back home, and he did not fight me on it. I stepped off of the elevator to find taped to the door a “welcome home” drawing. I smiled, pulling out my phone to take a picture of it before unlocking the door to go in. We stayed apart. He was by the bedroom door and I was still in the foyer. He sighed before saying, “I’m sorry for the way I behaved.”

“Dan,” I said as I closed my eyes, “I’m so sorry too.” That would have been the moment we hugged it out, but there was no hugging allowed at this time.

The next few days, I was happy to prepare some of his food and place it outside the bedroom door. I gladly slept on the couch in the living room because that meant I could watch TV “in bed”. We marked paths in the apartment where we each would take in order to avoid each other. Whenever he stepped out of the bedroom, we both wore our masks. Each time I collected his dirty dishes, I put on gloves and a mask. By the end of the week, he decided that he was going to stay at a nearby hotel that had become a Covid-19 facility where people who tested positive with very few symptoms could quarantine themselves. And on Saturday afternoon, with his bags packed and his trusted guitar, he left for the facility, where he would stay for the next nine days. I was grateful to him for leaving the comfort of his home just to make sure that I stayed safe.

While quarantining at home since March gave us the opportunity to become closer because we were spending so much time together, one phone call with news of a result caused a temporary rift in our relationship. And it wasn’t just the diagnosis. It was our own beliefs and personalities that allowed the coronavirus to invade our marriage. We both acted impulsively, not giving much thought to the fact that I potentially put myself in danger by going over to my sister’s. When we gave ourselves time to think and consider the situation, we were able to come together to create a solution that worked for the both of us. I think we both came away from this experience understanding that remaining calm in any given situation is key to handling anything that threatens to invade our marriage.

The Importance of Spousal Support

I’ve always been the type of person who prefers to stay home on any given occasion—a homebody. So, when this new directive to stay home was put upon us as a way to minimize the spread of COVID-19, I was quite fine with it. In fact, I believed it would not be a problem for me. But something changed a couple of weeks ago. 

For those of you who do not know, I am a high school English teacher with five classes of students. When remote learning began almost 4 weeks ago, I would wake up when it was still dark outside to prepare my lessons. Then, for approximately 6 hours straight I would “teach” and grade assignments, not giving myself a proper break or rest period between my classes.  On some days, there were phone and video conferences to attend. By the end of the “school day”, I was mentally exhausted, my eyes were strained, and I found myself always feeling irritable. That was only after 2 weeks of remote teaching! 

It wasn’t until the third week that I realized I was terribly depressed. Every day was all about my lessons, interacting with my students, and grading their work. I stopped communicating with Dan and I stopped taking care of myself, as my weekly hair and nail care regimen fell to the wayside. I stayed in my pajamas all day and ate junk food on a consistent basis. And when I noticed I had gained a little weight despite my daily exercise, I started to feel extremely sorry for myself.

A supportive phone call from my cousins and sister helped me put things in perspective and they gave me very useful tips that I used to balance my workday. But the ongoing support from my husband, I believe, prevented me from having a nervous breakdown. I was doing so much for work, trying to “get ahead” of the never-ending flood of work that teachers are known to have. And now, it felt like I had even more work just to ensure that students did not “disappear” during class. Also feeling overwhelmed with making sure all of my students understood the material I was giving them and finding new ways to convey that information to them, I was doing way too much and Dan saw that. If it wasn’t for his quiet support, I really believe I would have started down a dark path of self-destruction. 

Because Dan does not have a schedule like mine, he promptly started taking care of things around the apartment so that I didn’t have any more to do. He made the bed, prepared our lunch, went to the supermarket, made sure I stayed hydrated and continually reminded me to take breaks and move around once in a while. Even on days when food did not interest me, he made sure I ate a little something. And I was very aware of his support. He never made me feel ridiculous for doing too much, understanding that my way of teaching is very different from his. It wasn’t a discussion, I didn’t tell him to do these things; he just knew to do them. 

After a particularly hard day one afternoon, I told him that I usually watch Disney movies when I’m feeling low. So, he declared that every day from now on, we’ll watch a different Disney movie to unwind, which was a fun addition to our daily routine.

And perhaps once or twice a week, at Dan’s request, I venture outside the apartment to go for a walk with him. I do prefer to stay inside and not bother with the gloves and the mask and the washing of the hands when coming back inside. But I know that it is important to get some fresh air. And I do always feel somehow refreshed on our return.

The past few weeks, more than any other time, I came to learn and understand the power and importance of spousal support. I believe my depression would have worsened within the past couple of weeks if it had not been for the way Dan chose to help me through it. Of course, the feelings of being overwhelmed have not completely disappeared and every once in a while, my situation has me feeling a little distressed. What I do then is think about how fortunate I am that I have my health, my family and friends, and that I am still able to work and get paid during this challenging time. And most of all, I’m thankful for a loving, understanding and supportive partner.

Love in the Time of Corona


The coronavirus has undoubtedly planted fear and anxiety into so many people that it’s hard not to bring it up in daily conversation. It has become our greatest enemy, a modern day plague that kicked people into a reality we’ve only read about in fiction or watched in high budget apocalyptic-type films. 

I know of two types of people in this unprecedented time: the people who are overly and somewhat comically anxious, and then the people who feel and believe that as long as we take care of ourselves and maintain a reasonable social distance, we’ll be fine. I’m the latter. But my loving husband Dan—okay, so I know three types of people—is very concerned for our wellbeing. He had heedfully requested I wear a mask to the public school where I work, and is constantly reminding me to wash my hands, especially the moment I get home. He’s keeping himself updated with the news and continues to remind me that, “the coronavirus is a real thing, Cathy.” He’s also mentioned my pre-existing lung condition as a possible health factor. Out of his deep concern for me last weekend he firmly demanded that I not even go in to work on Monday (that was before we got the news that schools would be closed until mid April).

Dan has also considerately taken several trips to Costco and other supermarkets to secure the essentials we’ll need in the forthcoming weeks because “we just don’t know what will happen.” Our freezer and refrigerator are fully stocked with all the proteins and vegetables we’ll need in the coming weeks. Thanks to my sweet and thoughtful husband, our pantry has gotten quite impressive with food staples we know will never spoil.

Dan’s concern for our well being has also humorously resulted in the purchase of more bananas than we can actually consume before they start to over-ripen. “So we’ll just throw it out!” That was his response when I complained about the unused half banana in the fridge he ignored in order to eat a fresh banana in perfect condition.

“Dan!” I replied. “Telling me to throw away a half a banana is like cursing at me!” 

Well, at least he found my hyperbole funny. (Note: I did use some of the over-ripened  bananas the other day to make banana cookies with oats and walnuts, which we thoroughly enjoyed together on the couch as we snuggled like two little lovebirds to watch Netflix.) 

The difference in which Dan and I have reacted to this pandemic was actually made apparent when Dan came home one day this week from the supermarket with a few necessities and a bag of Baked in Brooklyn pita chips. I looked at the bag of chips and, in extreme disappointment said, “What happened to Stacy’s pita chips?” 

“They don’t sell it at Keyfood,” he quickly answered. 

“Yes they do!” I exclaimed. “Dan, that’s where I always buy Stacy’s pita chips!”

He looked at me in disbelief, as if to question why I had the audacity to be picky about chips in the midst of this worldwide uneasiness. 

“Are we really discussing this right now?” he asked.

I quickly realized how childish my concern was but I couldn’t imagine having to consume the dry pita chips that would have to be eaten with hummus in order to find any enjoyment in them rather than the ones that my taste buds crave.

Then he said something to me that was profound. He said, “Cathy, I just want to keep my family safe.” That’s right. This newly married couple that is us does indeed constitute a family and all he wanted to do was to provide it with food and safety. That was comforting. That was love.

So, I let it go. Maybe this was a good thing: I really could use a break from the ingestion of so much junk food anyway. Then, Dan did something that proves that true love in the time of COVID-19 does exist! After work the next day, he stopped by at a supermarket and bought us, among other things, not one, but three bags of Stacy’s pita chips!! 🥰 My hero!!!


All was right with my world again!


I understand that these are trying times and that people’s fear of this deadly virus is real and valid. I’m not trying to minimize the seriousness of this issue. I only wish to provide a bit of humor in its midst. And if you don’t find humor in my little attempt, then at least I tried. And once this blows over, because I truly believe we will get through this with positive results, we can all find something to laugh about in the spike of pregnancies that statistically will occur as is the case in times of crises such as this. 

So let’s do the best we can to not panic and know that we are all doing what we can to help ourselves and each other through this scary pandemic. Reach out to long time friends you’ve lost touch with. Call your loved ones to check in on them. Use FaceTime or some other type of video chat to visually connect with the people you wish you could visit. This is our current reality. And these may be the best ways for us to shower each other with love in the time of corona. 

At Home

It goes without saying that we should feel at our most comfortable in our own homes. I moved from an apartment that I literally felt was my refuge to an apartment that still does not truly feel like my own. 

For the last 15 years, I had been living with my sister in a condominium apartment we purchased together. I loved this apartment and coming home to it. The living room, with it’s hard wood floors, was spacious enough for the two of us to work out together if we chose to, and we often did. The open kitchen provided us with generous counter space and an area where we could both comfortably prepare our meals at the same time. The all white bathroom had what is called subway tiles with a pedestal sink and a shower that had a removable shower gun for convenient rinsing. My bedroom— I spent many many hours in this comforting room that was my solace on many an occasion. I had the room painted a rustic burgundy when we had just moved in and although my sister felt the color was too dark and depressing, I found that it served as a source of peace for me on the days when depression did not want to let me go. This was my home; it was my sanctuary. 

So imagine the heavy heart I carried with me as I said goodbye to my days of living there. Of course I was and am excited to move into my husband’s home, but the melancholy did make its appearance as I packed up all that I needed to take with me to start my life with Dan.

 I moved into an apartment filled with its own history. Compared to my apartment, Dan’s seemed a little cluttered. With quite a few pieces of furniture in the living room and a cramped kitchen, I quickly got used to it. There were even times before we married that I felt more comfortable there than in my old apartment. 

However, something in my mind shifted once I became Dan’s wife. I moved in with Dan and suddenly found myself questioning the art pieces on the wall, the arrangement of appliances in the kitchen and the usefulness of the furniture in the living room. The bookcases suddenly seemed haphazard to me. I must admit, though, that Dan worked very hard to make the bedroom comfortable for me. He cleared a space on one side and suggested we purchase an armoire together, which we did. I later bought a wooden shoe case that holds 36 pairs of shoes. Those two items keep me quite content. 

Then for Thanksgiving, Dan suggested we invite a colleague and his wife over. That’s when it hit me. I didn’t want to entertain anyone in my new home because it was not home to me yet. It was Dan’s home, and I just moved in with my clothes and shoes and little else. Sometimes, I felt more like a visitor using the spare side of the bedroom and spare pieces of furniture. 

Nothing in the apartment except the armoire and shoe case represent me, and those are only functional items. The art that line the walls, though quite fascinating, do not cater to my taste. Nothing on the book shelves represent what I like. The furniture is not the kind I would prefer. That’s when I recognized that my attempt at bringing new furniture in like my shoe case and the armoire was not going to make it feel like home. In an attempt to not offend him, I had not communicated my feelings about this with Dan, so there was no way he could have known that I needed something different. If I were to truly make the space a place of comfort for me, I’d switch out the small glass tables for a wooden coffee table. I’d fill the bookcases with my favorite books that I left behind in my old apartment. I’d find art that both Dan and I can agree on. Storage can serve as a temporary home for the things that are too dear to let go. Still, I think it will take more than just new furniture, the purging of old, and extra storage space to make me feel at home.

I realize now that I want a completely new apartment that Dan and I can furnish and decorate together. An apartment that is as much a merger of our likes as it is of our lives. Just as I purged what I no longer needed in order to move in with Dan, he’ll have to do the same when we decide to buy a place together. I believe it is then I will finally be in a place that will truly feel like my home.